Fried Fish and Female Dogs.

Posted: February 20, 2018 in Uncategorized

(Warning: this story contains adult content)

Growing up our family went out to eat twice a year.
Yup, two times.
It was a big deal.
On Christmas Eve we would go out to eat at a seafood place called Captain D’s before going to look at Christmas lights. Nothing says Feliz Navidad like fried flounder, hush puppies and cracklings. I loved the pound of greasy batter droppings that came with every meal. We would stuff ourselves with shrimp and coleslaw, and then stuff ourselves into the Dodge Dart to go look at pretty lights on the rich side of town. It was awesome! We had tartar sauce in our hair and looks of wide eyed wonder on our fish grease covered faces. I have some amazing memories that smell like overcooked halibut.

That was dining adventure number one!

Then, once a year, our sweet little Britney Spaniel, Bridget, would breed with a randomly picked boy Britney Spaniel. ( I warned you that there would be adult content). When we sold her litter of puppies, we would celebrate by going to McDonalds. Despite the fact that Bridget had done most of the work, she never got to go to Mickey Ds. We also never questioned her morals, we just celebrated the fact that she shacked up with a different hairy stud each year. (MORE adult content)
This explains why, to this day, I have a great affection for both hunting dogs and Big Macs.
To me, the Big Mac was the ultimate culinary achievement. I grew up thinking there was truly something special about the special sauce AND I believed that sesame seed buns were magical. It was a once a year treat.

Don’t cry for me because I didn’t get a happy meal until I was 23.
I obviously never went hungry.
Growing up, we were eating homegrown steaks, burgers, and vegetables. We had our own beef, chickens, and garden.
I didn’t realize how awesome that was until I started paying for my own groceries. (EVEN MORE adult content!)

Two times a year we stepped out on the town and it was a big deal!
Some of the best memories are homegrown.
Story turns the simplest things into the most treasured traditions.
(I wasn’t content with that until I was an adult.)

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